


The Sentinel of the Gallows

by UmbraElf



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Asshole Goddess, Awesome Vampire King, Blood Drinking, Blood and Violence, Bloody Kisses, Cunnilingus, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Dark Fantasy, Dark Magic, Deep Topics Tackled With Elves, Eternal virgin, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Magic-Users, Magical Realism, Not D&D But Heavily D&D Inspired, Oddly Socially Conscience Fantasy World, Porn With Plot, Sexual Fantasy, Snarky Blacksmiths, Snarky Midwives, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vampire Sex, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 13:12:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19229818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UmbraElf/pseuds/UmbraElf
Summary: Sig is a bitter blacksmith who sold himself into service to a vengeance goddess.  The Fae-Blooded Vampire Bronwyn is the Unnamed Vampire King's Gallows, his judge, jury, and executioner of the wicked who fines solace working as a midwife bringing life into the world.  When the two meet will their other lives push them apart, or do their broken pieces fit together?





	The Sentinel of the Gallows

** Prologue **

**_Ages Ago_ **

            Blood.

            The copper tang of it filled his nostrils, dripped down his hands in crimson rivulets, and soaked into his once white cloak, dying it forever red.  His hands trembled as bile scaled his throat.  He fell to his knees and wretched, orange light dancing in the corners of his vision.

            The crackle of the fire roared in his ears as did the rushing thunder of his heart.  His arms trembled as his blood drenched blade fell from his trembling hands.  He looked up as saliva still dribbled down his chin.

            His chest tightened as tears spilled down his blood-stained face. 

            Before him was a sea of bodies, parts hacked away and strewn across the blood-soaked snow.  A roaring fire circling the corpses stained the sky a sickly orange.  Their skins were shades of green and occasionally gray and their armor had been crude.  Long tusks stuck up from their lips and their bodies and faces were covered with carefully etched scars.  Weapons were still clenched by stiff fingers in severed hands from their owners’ bodies.

            A sob caught in his throat as he looked down at glazed blue eyes set into a round face.  Small hands were clenched in tight fists, but a clean cut almost bisected the tiny body.  Beside the dead babe was the head of its mother, her face etched with anguish at the moment of her death.  He turned to the side and heaved, spilling bile from his lips as tears streamed down his face.

            “Isn’t this what you wanted?  You wanted to be a hero, right?” a soft, female voice said from behind him.

            He wiped vomit from his lips and spun around to see the slight form of a young woman standing before him.  She was petite with long pale hair the color of sunlight and wide blue eyes that seemed to take up all of her face.  Silver armor gleamed in the firelight as she approached him.

            “This is what heroes do,” she said as she took his face in her small hands.

            He shook his head and said in a hoarse voice, “No, not like this.  I didn’t want it to be like this!”

            “Hero is just a pretty name for ‘ _murderer_ ’,” she whispered before her soft lips descended upon his.

 

******

****

            Her hands were shaking and icy tears were spilling down her cheeks.  The coppery sweet smell of blood was thick in the air.  Her eye teeth were throbbing and had grown long enough to cut into her bottom lip. 

            A loud, metallic clang shattered the silence around her as the sword fell from her hand and landed on the stone below.  Flickering shadows filled the edges of her vision and dim light from the braziers made the blood splashed upon the stone floor flicker in shades of black and red.  Gray ash was heavy across the floor amongst bits of jewelry and weapons.

            She looked down at her trembling and blood-stained hands before tightening them into fists.  Cool air slid down her nude body as the cold filled her from within.  An eternity ago, a few mere nights in reality, her heart would have been thundering in her chest.  Her blood would have roared in her ears and she would have been panting.  Sweat would have been rolling down her body, but other than the blood she was clean.  Her chest did not rise and fall, and as the shaking left her hands she became utterly still.

            Her nose twitched at the warm, earthy smell of horse flesh as the steady beat of its heart filled her ears.  Cold fingers danced up and down her spine as the air seemed to thrum with power.  Gritting her teeth, she thought, _No.  Never again._

            She bent down and picked up the sword and took a stance.  It felt awkward in her hands, but it was better than nothing.  It was enough to make short work of those fiends who wanted to paw at her and play with her as if she was just a toy for their enjoyment.

            _That is what **he** said.  That they were to have fun with me before he just left . . ._

            Once they had pulled her shift away from her body she saw the sword on one of their waists.  When cold hands had strummed unwanted upon her skin she lunged for it, pulling it free of its owner’s sheath.  They were older than her and should have been more powerful, but she had been born into battle even before a cold kiss forced this upon her.

            As soon as she was in motion, she felt that she had power as well, and unlike those fiends, combat had been something in her blood.  The weapon was not her first choice, but she made due with it.  And now she stood nude and bloodied in the grand hall, but untouched.

            She turned towards the smell of horse flesh and the sound of their hooves upon the stone floor.  There were two heartbeats and soon two riders on great, black war horses made their way into the hall.  Her eyes widened at the gleaming metal covering their bodies and the fine cloth of their cloaks.  Both men were tall and shared the same high cheekbones and sharp features.

            One looked slightly older and had hair black as night and a pointed, neatly groomed beard.  The hard lines of his face and his dark blue eyes softened at the sight of her standing there with her stolen sword.  She tilted her chin up and glared.

            The younger of the two, even though he sported a shock of white hair in the center of his black, dismounted.  His face was clean-shaven and the look on his face as he began to unfasten his cloak made her pause.  He said, “Dear Lord, Father.  She’s _Fae_.”

            “Part and the Fae blood in your veins wasn’t enough to keep this change from you though, was it, young lady?” the elder man said in a soft and low voice.

            The son approached her with his red cloak extended towards her.  His golden-green eyes met hers as he offered her a lopsided smile.  “We will not hurt you,” he said.

            She narrowed her eyes and said, “Touch me and you will fall here and now.  Like these fiends did.”

            The father guided his horse closer to her, leaning forward to look her in the eye.  “Who did this to you, young lady?” he asked, his voice lowering and becoming emotionless.

            Cold tears spilled down her cheeks as she answered, “He . . . That _bastard_ left me with them.”  She pointed to the ashes and effects on the ground with the sword.

            “Please come with us, so I can right this wrong that was forced upon you as much as I can,” the father said as he extended his pale, long fingered hand towards her.  “I cannot give you your old life back, but mayhap you can make your new existence worthwhile.”

            She bit her lip and said, “I am _not_ to be your or your son’s toy.  I am _not_ anyone’s plaything.”

            “Nor will you ever be again,” as the son said as he held out his cloak to her.

            She stared at it for a moment before she took it.  The cloth was whisper-soft yet heavy against her skin.  It fell around her shoulders and she tied it tight before nodding at him.  “That sword does not belong in your hands,” the father said, “I can see that is not your weapon of choice.”

            “That bastard took my axe from me,” she whispered as the sword fell to the floor again.

            The father nodded and said, “Well, my first act in repaying your sire’s debt to you will be to have another one forged for you.”

            Even though the heady hum of power was in the air, it was not turned against her.  She stared at the father’s hand for a moment before taking it.  He smiled at her, flashing small fangs as he pulled her up onto his horse. 

 

**_The Current Day_ **

****

Cat Blackmore found herself rubbing film from her eyes as she slowly sat up in her bed.  Pale moonlight streamed in the window across the room, illuminating her bedroom.  The hearth across the room had burned itself to dull red embers and her breath created puffs of steam in the air.

            Shivers danced up her spine as she rubbed her stiff hands together before pushing the heavy furs off of her.  The bed was wonderfully warm and she bit her lip as she resisted the urge to just curl up again.  _Egon needs me,_ she thought even though her child’s cries hadn’t filled the air yet.

            She found herself always wakening right before her babe cried out in distress. 

            _Yet, I don’t hear the cries yet,_ Cat thought as she swung her legs over the high bed and climbed down.  She gasped when her bare feet touched the cold stone of her floor and bit the inside of her cheek at the tiny pricks of ice shooting through her feet.  Wrapping her arms around herself, she slid her feet into thick wool slippers and made her way to the vanity.

            Currently the mirror there was uncovered, but once her husband returned home she would cover the silvered glass with a length of black silk.  She noted her reflection pale and wan in the glass and said, “You’d better be home soon, Reiner.”  She then donned the thick wool robe the color of midnight skies that was draped over the vanity’s chair. 

            The chills running up and down her body subsided somewhat as she drew the robe closer to her body.  A slow sinking feeling filled her stomach as she headed to Egon’s chambers.  He had been moved to his own room just a few scant months ago.  The first few nights had been rougher on mother than son, and Reiner had tried to soothe her worries but failed.  Eventually the small family settled into a routine until Reiner’s king called him away on some sort of dark business, leaving Cat alone with the babe and Reiner’s collected misfits that served as his council, servants, and retainers.

            _Even though I am sort of a misfit myself,_ Cat thought with a chuckle as she reached Egon’s room.  She reached out to open the door and cried out as her hand hit the doorknob.  Cold so strong that it burned her fingers until they blackened.  “Egon?” she called out but there was no answer other than a soft rustling from the other side of the door.

            “Egon!” she screamed as she wrapped a bit of her robe around her hand and tried the knob again.  Her chest tightened before her heart began thundering like a drum when the doorknob did not turn.  Icy tendrils ran themselves up and down her spine as she tried the door again.

            And again, the knob did not budge.

            Biting her lip, she spun hard on her heel, kicked off the cumbersome slippers, and ran back to her bedroom.  Her feet slapped against the cold stones, but it was a dull ache in the back of her mind as she sprinted at full force back to her room.  She burst into her bedroom and looked to the mantle above the fireplace.

            Resting on the mantle was a familiar length of silvered steel.  The sword had been forged to kill the monster that she ended up giving her heart and body to.  Yet she could not part with the sword and Reiner did not want her to, even encouraging her to keep up her skill with it.

            Biting her lip, her hand wrapped around the leather-wrapped handle of the familiar bastard sword.  Carved into the pommel was the symbol of her god, the Horned Hunter, and running her thumb over the etching of the prancing stag calmed her heart somewhat.  Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath she centered herself, focusing on getting to her child.

            Then she dashed back to Egon’s room, her sword drawn and at the ready.  With a wordless cry, she went to hack the door open.  Except when the blade touched the door, the door swung open, revealing a hooded figure cloaked in black standing over her young son’s sleeping form.

            “Away from my child, fiend!” she roared before charging forward, swinging her sword into position.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This whole idea was spawned by seeing all of these ads on Facebook with all of these Omegaverse novels. Stuff where the hero is basically a brutish rapist and the heroine falls in love with him because of knot cock I guess. So this idea came to mind combining things I love: snarky blacksmiths with Bruce Campbell Complexes and strong heroines who are just as snarky, but are afraid to let anyone get close because how they were hurt long ago, vampires, and playing 5E D&D for like three years straight. Yes, the D&D wears itself on its sleeve - you'll probably notice how I'll change the names of things so I'm not completely violating copyright. Like Hauflin being the word that "Hobbit" and "Halfling" were based off of.


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